


Without Consent

by Sidnea



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: AU-Alternate Universe, Avengers - Freeform, F/M, POV Phil Coulson
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-26
Updated: 2016-10-29
Packaged: 2018-08-27 05:29:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8389081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sidnea/pseuds/Sidnea
Summary: Saving Agent Coulson was risky, a desperate act done without his consent. He lost his will to live and then they took away his memories of what he had become. But can you make a man truly forget that he has lain tortured and begging to die? Can you take something that has been re-written into his very DNA?





	1. In The Night

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Skyson](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skyson/gifts).



> Disclaimer: I don’t own the characters or Marvel Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D canon points. I am simply speculating on a plot line that has yet to be fleshed out. I own nothing here.

In The Night  
***  
“Don’t,” Phillip Coulson gasps as he snaps awake, “Stop!” His lungs are burning as if the life giving oxygen has been trapped too long in them. It is an almost familiar feeling. His chest too full, still and wrecked with pain before the numbness steals his breath. He has to struggle to inhale, but soon he is sucking in great gulping breaths. He wants to sit up, escape the strangeness of his dream but he cannot move. 

It is like that every night restlessly falling to sleep only to be jolted awake less than a handful of hours later, paralyzed by memories of his death and half remembered recovery. Dying had been darkness, pain and strangeness followed by beautiful light and then magical. As his heavy limbs finally flex to his will Phillip Coulson’s mind shifts away from the paralyzing dark place he dreams about. He thinks of that place that he had been before the dark, before Tahiti and he feels loss. The emptiness is a momentary thing that is easily hidden under thoughts of a tropical island with crystal clear azure waves pounding against sun bleached sand. Tahiti had been a magical place.

Shoving the sheets away he slides his legs over the side of the bed. Planting his feet firmly on the cold tile floor and the world becomes more real. There is the soft mattress under his weight, the sensitive soles of his feet pressed to the hard floor and breath in his chest a testament that he is alive. Lifting a shaking hand to his face he wipes the cooling sweat from his skin and glances at the clock on the bedside table. The clock is an old one a remnant of an era long passed. He wound it before he went to bed and now the rhythmic tick—tick mark Phil’s waking moments. The hands, so analog in today’s world, show the time as quarter to four and the dimness of the room says it is morning and not afternoon. 

Sighing, Phil stands up and moves toward the bathroom. It is only three hours since he went to bed but he knows he will not sleep again tonight. He does not bother with the lights as he steps into the ensuite, these have been his rooms for only the last week but one SHIELD room is like the next. He grasps the neck at the back of his white undershirt and pulls it over his head welcoming the chill air against his night-fevered skin. Using the soft cotton to dry his face and chest Phil yanks the shower open and turns on the water. 

Testing the temperature of the spray and finding it acceptable he moves across the room. Putting his shirt into the hamper. Phil’s hands lift to his chest. He thinks about the thick roped scar bisecting his pectoral muscles and tracing his spine from just above the T3 to the T6 vertebrae. He almost touches it before shaking away the almost morbid fascination and dropping his hands and shoving his sleep pants off his hips. They fall to his feet and it is automatic to bend and scoop the cotton pants into the hamper. He relieves himself just as absent from the action as if he were still asleep, but when he stands beneath the pounding hot spray he can feel the cold of the dark place recede. Lathering a cloth Phil methodically washes away the last vestiges of his nightmare. 

The steamy warmth filling the room is reminiscent of a tropical night and he thinks of the magical place he left a week ago. Five days. He has been back in the real world for just five days but he cannot wait to move on to his next assignment. If he stopped to think about it he would wonder how he had made it months in Tahiti without the drive for his work intruding, because he had only been back three days before he was Jones-ing for an assignment. 

Rinsing the soap from his body Phil turns and let's the water rain down over his head and along his back. He had always liked the way hot water felt running down his back, but his features pinch as he realizes that he feels almost numb now. Dropping his head forward he presses his chin to his chest and wishes he felt less dissatisfied with the second chance at life. It is not the scars that make him uneasy, he has others even if they are less obvious ones. No, he cannot seem to escape the thought that he is missing something, that it was missing long before Loki skewered him.

Lifting his head and letting it fall back on his neck he slicked his hair back on his head and then turned the shower off. Pushing the door open he reached out and pulled a towel from the rack. The sound of cotton against skin, his even breaths and the drip-drop-drip of water against the shower drain is the only thing that Phil can concentrate on as he methodically dries his body. Tying the damp towel about his hips he goes back into his room. 

The clock tells him he has only spent thirty minutes in the shower and he knows the morning will be getting ready to start here in a couple of hours. Agent Hill, Fury’s right-hand, will be briefing Coulson’s new Specialist, Grant Ward, in a few hours. He could get dressed and go down to the gym but he won’t. The idea of an early morning workout does not appeal to him the way it had before he was shanked by an alien up-start with delusions of grandeur. 

Instead, he pulls the chair out and slouches into it legs sprawled. His laptop is open on the desk and it takes a single tap on the keyboard to wake it up. With swift strokes he types in the password, opens a secure window and then he is clicking open a file. Her voice is suddenly filling the room he doesn't bother watching the attached video; he has already seen it. The same can be said for her podcast but he likes her voice.

“The secret is out,” her voice has an odd effect on Phil Coulson and he finds himself relaxing back into the chair as her husky susurrations sooth his disquiet. The half fearful and awed way she speaks of heroes and monsters speaks of maturity and naiveté. She is her own juxtaposition. Closing his eyes he listens to the thinly veiled mentions of SHIELD and their secrets. She has been on Coulson’s radar since before Project PEGASUS went belly-up; she is that good. She is probably the best seeing that she hacked the SHIELD RSA implementation; twice. The first time a few weeks before Loki’s attempted coup and again just a few days ago. 

Coulson was surprised she had not been tracked down before now. Fury certainly voiced his desire to swat the fly before the Battle of New York and Coulson had been ready to wield the swatter. Now, on the other side of his mortality he found himself oddly pleased that she had lead SHIELD on such a merry chase. The girl was an unknown and Coulson had a new, deep-seeded appreciation for her skills; she is a survivor. 

“You can’t stop the Rising Tide,” her vehemence made him smile. She is scrappy. Reaching out Phil closed his laptop. All they needed now was for her to make one more post and they would have her location. Granted, she wanted to be caught. Coulson has no delusions that they would not have found her eventually, but she has an agenda. So, he will let her little plan play out until he figures her angle. If there is one façade he has down pat it is unassuming government stooge. People always take him for-granted. 

Standing he turned a lamp on and opened his closet. It took a few minutes to decide on which suit to wear today. Hanging a navy blue suit on the door of the closet Phil pulled two shirts from the rail. Cocking his head to the side he contemplated the plain white button-down and the white with blue pin stripes. Liking the effect of the stripes against the dark Tasmanian wool Coulson put the plain white back in the closet. The tie was a bit harder to pick. A smile graced his features when he chose a medium blue-grey tie that sported a darker design. A person would have to look closely to see that the dark shapes were similar to tiny shield logos.

Carrying his clothes to the bathroom he finished his morning ablutions and dressed with meticulous care. Today, he was going back to work and, as different as he felt in his own skin, he wanted to give the impression that he was his old self. The world thought that Phillip J. Coulson was dead and those that knew differently had this way of looking at him lately that felt like scrutiny. Probing questions asked with searching looks that seemed to question whether he knew exactly how he was and what he felt. Phil hated being treated like a broken toy that was only half put back together. 

However, getting such a plum assignment right out of recovery went a long way to smooth Coulson’s ruffled feathers. The SHIELD Globemaster they pulled out of decommission and completely overhauled was the ice cream sundae. And the cherry was the fact that Fury and Hill had given him the green light to pull the team together sooner than originally planned. His team would go after the unregistered gifted with the Rising Tide’s ‘help’ and Phil could only smile at the thought of finally meeting the girl behind the activist’s voice.


	2. A Simple Man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Saving Agent Coulson was risky, a desperate act done without his consent. He lost his will to live and then they took away his memories of what he had become. But can you make a man truly forget that he has lain tortured and begging to die? Can you take something that has been re-written into his very DNA?

Phil Coulson is a simple man. Therefore, he derives pleasure in the simplest of ways; like watching the look on both Agent Ward’s and Agent Hill’s faces. Maria’s habit of drawing little caricatures on agent evals is nothing new, but Phil saying anything about it is. Phillip Coulson, post death and recovery, takes great delight in the utterly inappropriate little drawing of a poop. 

After Agent Ward he made his way to Administration and he is not too shocked that she put up very little fight about joining his team. He does not mind making the promise to keep her out of combat. He knows how much Bahrain cost her, but it is time for her to step out of her self imposed exile. Phil is shocked that she did not go completely stir-crazy in that cubical and he is gratified when she almost smiles at his red-tape joke. He can see the old May peeking out of those eyes and he leaves feeling even more happy with his team choices.

Fitz and Simmons are ecstatic. At least, Simmons is ecstatic Fitz just seems mildly paralyzed if his wide-eyed-do-in-the-headlights look is anything to go by. Coulson can see why they are not cleared for combat; they lack the musculature. They are young and sheltered and this is the first time they are being nudged toward the edge of the nest. He watches the two scientists bicker back and forth and Coulson thinks they will fly one day and prove that even though they have an almost cripplingly high IQ they can be honorable and brave. 

Climbing the spiral stairs to his office/bunk Phil thumbs open the file May handed him. They had tracked her signal to an alleyway. An alleyway! Coulson flips to the satellite photo of the location and frowns. A oxidized van sits between two buildings surrounded by the detritus of urban life. She was much better than SHIELD had given her credit for if she had been able to hack the RSA from a van in the middle of an alley. Closing the file he picks up his laptop and heads back downstairs. 

Settling in at the table beside the window Coulson glances in Ward’s direction as he settles into a spot across the room. May is coasting toward the runway. They will be taking off soon. Buckling up he contemplates the younger man and he has to admit that Ward’s people skills do indeed warrant the little poop. The man is stiff and focused, so much so that he does not have a clue about social cues. Had he never heard a joke before? Shaking off the feeling that of his team Ward would be the most work he logged in and quickly switched the audio to his earbud.

“You think you have the right to stand between the world and the truth,” her voice tinged with incredulity hums through his ear. “Playing with gods and playing God…”

Coulson leans forward resting his arms on the table. It is a short flight and soon they are turning and making their decent. Ward is just finishing up the self-appointed task of cleaning and reassembling his side arm. The younger agent has an intense expression on his face and it calls to mind the almost pleased look he had worn when he thought Coulson was suggesting crossing-off the Rising Tide members. Knowing what he does about the man’s past Coulson thinks Ward will be a good fit on his team, at least after he realizes there is a team.

The landing is smooth and Coulson smiles as the plane taxis up to the far end of the Tarmac. Unbuckling his seatbelt Phil stands up before making his way into the common room. Picking up one of the handsets and pressing the button opening the mic.

“Briefing in five,” Phil announces and then adds, “Fitz-Simmons up stairs.”

Coulson has to smile when the two scientists enter the room still arguing about what ever they had been discussing down in the lab. Ward is up and standing beside the bar by the time the plane comes to a full stop and the engines power down. May enters silently as the dynamic scientific duo plant themselves on one of the sofas, still arguing. 

Coulson watches May move to one of the chairs and take a seat and he can tell that she finds the two a little trying. Moving to stand in front of the coffee table Phil turns to meet Ward’s eyes over his shoulder.

“Care to join the rest of the team,” he asks, but the younger agent understands the implied command. Looking back at Fitz and Simmons they are still unaware that the briefing is getting ready to start. Clearing his throat loudly he gets their attention and smiles when they look up at him expectantly. 

Once Ward is seated in a chair, admittedly the one farthest from the group, Coulson lifts the file. “This is our first field trip. So, we’ll be using the buddy system. May, I need you with Fitz and Simmons combing through the debris at the explosion sight. While, they try to determine what was used in the device I want your eyes on the scene. You know what you’re looking for.”

“Yes, sir.” Simmons agrees with a wide smile. Her enthusiasm is palpable and Coulson is glad he is giving her the chance to experience life outside the lab. Fitz is more restrained but he has a brave face. They will be fine May does not look happy, but she also doesn’t protest, so he continues with the briefing. “You’ll drop Agent Ward and I off at the location of the routing point we discovered for the Rising Tide. Ward and I will be taking care of the Rising Tide exploit.” Glancing at Ward as he remembers his enthusiasm at the thought of using lethal force. Giving Ward a look Coulson says, “We will not be crossing anyone off. We need to find out what she knows and—”

“Sir,” Ward interrupts him and Coulson is not surprised. Turning, his trademark bland expression on the younger agent he waits. “These people are a dangerous bunch and they have some pretty nasty ties to the underworld.”

“Yes,” Coulson acknowledges, “Unfortunately, the young and idealistic are not the only people who want to find out what is out there. However, this hacker-slash-anarchist is an unknown variable, an O-8-4 if you will. So, we will treat her as such.” Grant Ward does not seem pleased with the prospect of allowing the hacker any latitude, but he closes his mouth and listens to the rest of Coulson’s plans.

The drive into the city reminds Coulson of a road trip with a backseat full of children. Not that he has ever taken a road trip with children, but he assumes the bickering and pestering between agents is childlike. Ward made the mistake two miles in of rubbing Fitz the wrong way and Simmons had risen to the defense of her lab partner. 

Glancing at May he says with a smirk, “Well, this is fun.” May, being May ignored his comment, put the turn signal on and changed lanes. “I know,” he sighs to himself. “Right?” May just takes a deep breath and concentrates on the road ahead.

May drops them in front of a diner about a block from the alleyway where the Rising Tide van is parked. Straightening his tie and buttoning his suit jacket Coulson turns letting his eyes rove over their surroundings. Agent Ward is doing the same. Without a word Phil turns and starts walking in the direction of the alley. Ward is equally silent. Both of them stand out in the crowd but where Coulson walks with quiet, unassuming grace Ward is projecting strength and a mild sense of menace. They eat up the distance between them and the van quickly and soon Coulson is standing about twenty feet from the vehicle arms crossed and leaning his shoulder into the brick wall.

“So,” Ward says as they watch the van parked so innocuously at the other end of the alley. “How do you want to play this?”

“We know she is in there,” Coulson says after a moment. Reaching into his pocket he pulls out a piece of folded, black material handing it to Agent Ward. “So, we will just go and ask her nicely to have a chat.” Shaking out the material Ward looks confused at first but when he realizes it is a hood he smiles. 

“Sounds like a plan,” Ward acknowledges with a nod.

“Once the asset is secure,” Coulson explained as he shifted away from the building, “We will take the van and all back to the Bus.”

“So,” Ward spoke as they walked toward the van, “You really think she will have actionable Intel?” Coulson’s only answer was a quirking of his lips as they neared the back of the van.

“How will you come at us? From the air…” 

“She’s recording another post,” Phil could feel his spirits lift as he listened to her impassioned speech. Looking at Ward he asked, “Were you ever that idealistic?”

Coulson felt his face break into a wide grin when his only answer was a pursing of the younger agent’s lips; leading Ward around to the side of the van Phil nodded for him to open the door. The timing was absolutely perfect.

“…You’ll never, never…” The smile never left Coulson’s face. She was playing it cool, all wide eyed surprise. It is interesting every time someone glances over him assuming him to be the least threatening person in a situation. Skye only gives him a cursory glance keeping her eyes on Ward. Being the unassuming government stooge is beneficial to Coulson’s way of doing business. He is the geeky, pencil pushing bureaucrat until he wasn’t and then by the time the suspect was any the wiser they were incapacitated. She does not move at least until the bag is over her head. She only puts up a marginal fight though. Gesturing for Ward to get in Coulson glanced around making sure they were not being observed. Following the younger agent into the van Phil slides the door closed and then steps between the seats to slide behind the wheel. 

“Hey,” the activists indignant voice snapped, “You can’t just commandeer my van!”

“Looks like we already did,” Ward informs her, unimpressed. 

“Yeah, well,” she sneered, and Coulson could almost hear her glare as her hooded head turned toward Ward. “You better not put one scratch on my home!”

“Home?” 

Coulson frowned looking over his shoulder into the back of the van as Ward echoed the word. Turning back to the road Phil let his eyes roam over the interior of the cramped van. There was just enough room in the back for a small pallet beside the array of computer equipment. This was no place for a girl to be living. It was not comfortable or safe. 

It was a short drive back to the airfield. Once he had admonished Ward to stop rising to the bait the girl tossed out from behind her hood the trip was far more peaceful than the one into town. Coulson had kept a weather eye on the traffic around them as he drove and he is surprised that no one seems to be following them. The girl is not the only one of her group in the area and it is disconcerting that there is no opposition in acquiring the girl.

As Ward leads their hooded guest onto the Bus Coulson hands the keys off to one of the CS techs and then follows his specialist up the ramp. Turning, one last time to inspect the outlying area he finds himself more uneasy about the ease with which they took the girl. She wanted to be found that was an undisputed fact, but did she really think that SHIELD was a place you could just waltz into without any sort of back-up?

Following Ward and their guest up the spiral stairs Coulson has to wonder exactly what her game is. She does not seem to be dangerous, but Phil will hold out judgement until he has had a chance to interrogate her. Stepping passed them once they are upstairs he leads the way to the containment room. Opening the door Coulson steps in and holds it open for his agent and watches as he roughly jerks the bag off her head and shoves her into the chair.

Ward and the girl start another back and forth and Coulson finds that he likes her even more in person. She is still too naïve but she has spunk and she can hold her own with Ward. Phil cannot decide if the younger agent is sabotaging the interrogation or if he really is inept contrary to his file’s glowing reports.

“What’s your name,” Coulson interrupts and her eyes shift to his as she answer. “Skye.”

“What’s your real name,” Ward cuts in again but Coulson cuts to the chase. They are all here for a reason. Skye wants inside SHIELD, Ward wants off the team and Coulson…Well, Coulson wants to find the unregistered gifted before the man falls into the wrong hands. He was right she wanted inside, but he is a little shocked that she jumped to gloat over that fact quite so quickly. 

“Agent Coulson, sir?” A tinny voice echoes in his ear but he does not answer. The CS knows that he is in the middle of an interrogation and the man would not be contacting him if it was not pertinent to the cause. “I have never seen encryption like this. It is genius level stuff. I mean nothing we have can even make a dent.” 

Coulson admits he is impressed. Listening to her podcasts he had admired her passion and naïve idealism but finding out that she is the ‘best’ he is looking for to round out his team. It is a surprise that Director Fury and Agent Hill will probably not like, but Phil knew what he wanted in a team. He wants Skye but first he was going to have to get her to open up.

The mention of some sort of operation called Centipede throws them both, but Ward is the one that shows their hand. Coulson watches the other agent as he exposes their ignorance of the project and it is another tick in the column of evidence that Ward is purposefully trying to thwart their efforts by sabotaging the interrogation. 

Remaining in his seat as he watches Ward try looming over the girl Coulson realizes that they are not going to get much more out of her unless the younger agent backs off a bit. Phil is pretty sure that she is being genuine when she offers to go talk to the gifted man, but then Ward steps between them calling her a sweaty, cosplay girl. It aggravates him and he has had enough of Ward’s combative and abrasive methods. Skye is an asset, one that could be a boon to the team and Ward is ruining not only the chances of Coulson being able to recruit the girl, but also finding their target.

Standing without a word Coulson buttons his suit coat. Looking at Skye as she starts to deny ever having dressed up as one of Tony Stark’s many fans. As soon as their eyes meet she looks away and mutters, “It was one time.” 

She seems almost embarrassed by the admission but Phil has more pressing matters to attend to. Jerking the door open he calls, “Ward,” in command. Leading the agent out and down the hall to the command center Coulson decides on a course of action. Skye does not trust them and she won’t until they give her something that an evil, faceless government tool would not.

***

“Sorry,” Coulson asks, feeling quite happy at having surprised them both with his quick movements. “Did that hurt?” It is satisfying watching the drug take effect. As soon as he is out the door he goes to the command center and watches the girl question his agent.

She’s good. It is rare that civilians have such good instincts about how to disarm a suspect during interrogation; granted the serum is giving her an advantage. But it is a gift the way she uses her more personal attributes. Also, getting just close enough to invade Ward’s personal space without looming is an art form. Coulson listens as she interrogates his agent until, in the middle of a sentence, Ward falls face first into the table. 

Turning the sound off but keeping the feed running Phil walks to the door and opens it to find Skye with her hand on the side of Ward’s neck. She looks up when she hears the door and she has gleeful look on her face when she sees him standing there. 

“He’s alive,” Coulson informs her unnecessarily.

“Yeah,” she nods moving away from the agent turning to face Coulson more fully. “I got that.”

Her eyes are narrowed a bit and Phil can see that she is reevaluating him. Coulson wonders if she has finally realized that he is not the pencil pusher she has written him off as and he smiles. Inviting her to come out of the interrogation room with a suave hand gesture Phil smiles at the sight of Ward. He’s drooling just a bit, making a smallish puddle on the table beneath his cheek.

Closing the door Coulson walks back down the hall to the command center aware that Skye is scanning her surroundings. “Knew it,” she mutters.

“Yes,” he throws over his shoulder, “You are indeed on a plane. Not many people would have figured that out.” Entering the command center Phil walks around the holo-table and meets her eyes. 

“I heard planes in the distance,” she says as she stops just inside the door. “And we walked up a ramp, not stairs to get inside.”

“Yeah, well, in my experience people panic when they have a bag shoved over their head and are kidnapped by, ‘guys in suits’.” He purposefully uses her words from her podcast and he sees a flicker of pride. He thinks about informing her that he knows she let herself be taken, but that would show too many of his cards and he is still holding out hope that Skye will fill out his hand. 

“You listen to my podcasts,” she murmurs, crossing her arms and cocking her head to the side. He just smiles. They both know that SHIELD has been listening to everything the Rising Tide has to say. She really doesn’t need to know that he only really listens to her posts; that he finds her voice soothing in the early morning hours when he has been awakened from a nebulous dream of a darkness and pain.

“Did Agent Ward give you anything,” he asks looking down at the information he has displayed on the table. 

“He told me he’s been to Paris, but he didn’t really see it and that he wishes you would have stayed in Tahiti.”

“It’s a magical place,” he pipes up with a grin.

“Ward doesn’t like your style,” she informs him as she walks telling him with a smile, “I kinda think I do.”

“And what about his,” Coulson asks swiping the breaking news report onto the monitor. Skye watches the screen as the anchor woman speaks, but Coulson watches her. He isn’t surprised by the emotions crossing her face. She wears them like having her heart on her sleeve. What does surprise him is the ache in his chest as he witnesses true compassion. He wonders when his had started to diminish and if it will hurt to nurture that bit of himself.

“…He just needs a break,” she says and Coulson knows she will do what ever it takes to help the guy. Biting her lip Skye locks eyes with him and he can almost see the internal debate going on inside her head. He knows the instant she decides to trust him and Coulson cannot help but feel a spark of happiness that she is going to let him in. “I—might have his name and address.”

“Really,” Coulson says with a smile. “Would you like to share?”

“You won’t,” she starts to speak haltingly, “hurt him or anything will you?”

“Not unless he proves to be too volatile to reason with,” Coulson assures her. “The attack on the factory foreman and his destruction of property in the amount of tens of thousands of dollars worth of equipment is troubling.”

“He got hurt,” she defends, “They just laid him off. And because he was hurt he couldn’t find anything else. His wife is a real piece of work, too. She left him and their kid behind.”

“How do you know this,” He asks watching her closely.

Chewing on her bottom lip Skye sighs and then reaches into the neck of her sweater. Coulson cocks his eyebrow when she pulls a driver’s license from her bra. Coulson raised his eyebrows at the sight of the gifted man’s official state driver’s license. So, Skye had other more nefarious skills, survival skills. It was obviously the best place to keep the item from discover, aside from a strip search they would not have looked in her bra for anything of importance and neither would a pick-pocket. She extends the card toward him and just as the plastic warmed by her body hits his palm she implores him quietly, “Don’t make me regret helping you.”

“I won’t,” Phil says quietly, “But if things get out of control and he endangers civilians…” He leaves the rest unsaid, but she understands.

“Just,” she nods, “I know you can help him, give him a second chance. Do whatever you can; please, his son needs his father.”

“I will,” Coulson nods. “Let me call my team,” glancing at the still unconscious Agent Ward he amends with a conspiratorial smile, “Well, most of them anyway.” 

***

Coulson smiles as the SHIELD SUV pulls up the ramp on the Bus. As soon as they come to a complete stop everyone piles out and he finds himself surrounded by cautiously optimistic agents. Turning to look them each in the eye Phil says, “Good work,” and then gestures for them to go about their business. Fitz and Simmons start a boisterous discussion about the Night-Night Gun As they enter the lab. Ward heads upstairs followed by an equally quiet May leaving him on the ramp.

He watches Skye with his inscrutable look firmly in place. He regrets having an agent transport her van back to the alley while they tied up loose ends because it forced her to ride back to the air field with the rest of the team. She smiles and then widens her eyes, “So, you did good,” she says managing to only sound slightly surprised. “You didn’t kill, Mike.”

“I said I wouldn’t,” he murmurs watching as her eyes stray to Lola. “If I could help it.”

“Yeah,” she nods, reaches out as if to run a hand over Lola before jerking her hand back. Coulson frowns wondering why she did not follow through and is disconcerted that he had not barked the familiar command, ‘Don’t touch Lola!’

“Yeah,” turning to face him she admits, “But you said if he put civilians in danger it would be different.”

“It almost was,” he admits, “But no one wanted Mike’s son to see his father die and besides I think Michael Peterson has potential.” Opening the front passenger door to the SUV Coulson gestures for her to get in. “Just like, I think you have potential, Skye. Let me drive you home?”

“Me, potential?” She laughs climbing into the seat looking disconcerted as he pulls the seatbelt forward for her. “Charming,” she murmurs with a shake of her head.

“I try,” he smiles when she takes the buckle and fastens it as he closes the door with a gentle push.

Climbing behind the wheel Phil fastens his own seatbelt before donning his sun-glasses. Turning the key he starts the car and then puts it in gear letting it roll backward down the ramp. Deciding to play it cool Phil reaches over and turns on the radio. Her voice suddenly fills the space and he watches her body jerk slightly as her newest recording plays. The only difference is that he had one of the higher-level computer science techs give the broadcast an ending that did not include her abduction.

He is feeling quite proud of himself for surprising her. She remains quiet as the podcast comes to a close. Her eyes are on his face and he can tell she is trying to figure him out. But it would take longer than they have left of the drive for her to crack the nut of who Phil Coulson is. Besides, they are nearing the diner just down the street from her van. Parking in front of the moderately busy diner Coulson gets out and rounds the vehicle opening the door for Skye.

“Want pie,” Phil asks, “I feel like having pie.”

“Pie,” She asks as she smiles, but he can tell she is unsure of what to make of him. After a moment she nods and heads for he door to the restaurant.

“Or,” he adds, “If you want something else, a burger or something its my treat.”

Coulson lets her pull the door open, but he catches it and holds it for her and then follows her to a booth. He waits for her to slide into one of the bench seats before unbuttoning his suit coat and taking the one opposite. Reaching over he pulls a couple menus from behind the napkin dispenser. Sliding one menu across the table in front of Skye he turned his attention to his own. The types of pie listed is not extensive they have lemon meringue and apple. He takes a moment to contemplate which he is in the mood for, but he finds he is unable to decide.

“What can I get ya,” a bored, middle-aged waitress asks as she stares down at her pad, pen poised to take their order.

Phil looked up at the woman noting the name on her tag. Smiling, with a wry twist to his lips he looked over to his guest, “What will it be, Skye?” he asked. 

She was nervously fidgeting with the laminated menu. The way she licked her lips spoke to the fact that she was hungry but then she dropped the menu and retrieved three sugar packets to fiddle with. She lined them up, turned them over and smoothed imagined wrinkles from the packets. It was odd realization that this was an attempt to self-sooth on Skye’s part. Glancing around the diner Coulson realized she did not really enjoy being around other people so much. Strangers at least.

“I’m fine,” she informed him with a bright smile before addressing the waitress, “but I would love a glass of ice water…from the tap is fine.” The waitress looked up perturbed. Orders like this did not add up to a generous tip. Sighing dramatically she penned H2O on the pad with deep strokes. 

Coulson studied Skye. There is two, possibly three reasons Skye was going for only a glass of tap water. One, she did not want to feel as if she owes him anything. Or, two, she was afraid to take the offer at face value. Option three he did not like because it meant that she was playing him by letting him assume one of the first two options. That just did not sit well with him even though he knew she had an agenda. Skye wanted inside SHIELD but he was almost positive that she was not a threat to them; that in its self should have worried him. Coming to a decision Coulson kept his expression his usual bland half smile as he turned to the waitress. 

“I’ll have a coke,” he tells the waitress, “Water is so blah. Do you want a soda pop?”

Skye just looks at him with incredulous wide eyes as she mutters, “Soda pop? Who even says that anymore?”

Coulson smiles enjoying her gentle ribbing. “Make it two cokes and two burgers plates all the way,” he says to the woman taking their order his voice smooth and commanding. “One well and the other medium.”

“I am not hungry,” Skye hissed across the table and Phil momentarily let his eyes drift from the waitress to see Skye leaning across the table with wide eyes and an embarrassed look on her face. 

“And pie,” Coulson says ignoring the girl across the table from him. “A slice of Lemon and one of apple. I hate trying to decide. So, if you could just put them on one plate, Hellen, that would be great.” 

“Hey, you can’t just ignore me.” Skye growls, glaring at him after Hellen left with a renewed spring in her step. “Like I am not sitting her talking to you.”

“I wasn’t ignoring you,” Coulson assures her. “Well, technically, maybe I did. I just realized that we were all a little too wrapped up in trying to find Mike Peterson and didn’t get the chance to eat today.”

“So,” Skye eyes him leaning back into the booth and crossing her arms over her chest. “You are hungry.”

Unwilling to tell her a lie he just shrugs a shoulder and smiles sheepishly, but the smile widens when she purses her lips and he realizes that she isn’t buying it. He watches as Skye studies him from the top of his head all the way to the tip of his tie. After a moment she relaxes and he is glad she is going to choose a different battle and he smiles. 

“Don’t let it go to her head,” She says and he smiles wider. Skye just rolls her eyes and shifts in her seat her hands going to the sugar packets on the table beside her.

Coulson feels a certain understanding settle between them and he reaches up and yanks at the knot of his tie loosening it so he can undo the first couple buttons of his shirt. This is supposed to be an official invitation to work with his team, but he thinks she might be more open to the idea if he at least tries not to beat her over the head with his government stooge persona.

Hellen brings their sodas and is even marginally more polite about placing the straws on the table between them. He notices that she also placed a styrofoam cup of ice water beside Skye. The woman must recognize her. She might even know that she is living in her van a street and a half away. That bit of kindness raises her a bit higher in his esteem. 

“Thanks, Hellen.” He smiles and glances up at the waitress meeting her eyes.

Coulson waits for Hellen to walk away before taking a straw and tossing the other toward Skye. She takes it tears the paper away and slides it into her drink as she watches Hellen thoughtfully. Turning back to him she takes a sip of the fizzy drink before she says, “You are a smooth operator.”

That startles a laugh out of him and Phil just shakes his head as he asks, “Because I try to be polite?”

“No,” she shakes her head and he is gratified that she has a wide smile on her pretty features as she responds, “Because you know what buttons to push with people. I bet Hellen brings you two of the biggest slices of pie in the cooler.” Skye emphasizes the waitress’ name as her fingers twist the straw wrapper into a tight little ball.

“It isn’t pushing a button,” Coulson tells her as he taps his straw on the table pushing the straw from the wrapper and then sliding it into his soda, “to treat people with respect.” 

He gestures to the woman across the room busily filling an old man’s coffee cup. The guy is concentrated on his news paper as she walks away never acknowledging her. “She works here day in and day out. Has probably filled that guys mug a hundred times, but he doesn’t look at her. He acts like she isn’t there. Would it be so difficult to treat her like a human being?”

Skye is staring at the table Hellen just left as she lets his words soak in. When she turns back toward him her thoughtful expression tells him that she was liked what he had to say. She frowns a bit as she leans forward to take a long pull from her straw. Her eyes study him as she drinks but he acts like he doesn’t notice. Lifting his glass and drinking as he tries to figure out how to broach the topic of her joining his team. 

They are silent for a long time as they both get lost in their own thoughts and are jolted by Hellen arriving with the question, “Who has the medium burger?”

Coulson gives her a smile as he lifts his hand, “Thanks, Hellen.”

“Wow, Hellen, this looks great!” Skye tells the woman enthusiastically as her plate is placed in front of her. “And thanks for the water to-go.”

“You’re welcome,” the woman says bemused. “Did you need anything? Catsup?”

Skye meets his eyes and then shakes her head no for both of them, “No, we’re good. Thanks.”

Coulson unwraps his silverware and places the napkin in his lap. Eyeing the burger with anticipation he did not expect. It is odd. Food never really held any interest for him. Even before becoming an agent-on-a-stick. The real reason he could not decide about which dessert to choose is because food is nothing but fuel for his body. He had the reputation for being a bit of a foodie but he isn’t sure how much of that is because it is a skill and how much of it is that he actually appreciates food. Thoughtfully picking up a french-fry and popping it into his mouth Phil tries to decide if he is changed at all from the man he was and if that meant his attitude about food should change, too. 

Skye has her fingers wrapped around the thick burger. She is staring at it trying to decide the best way to take a bite without making a mess. Taking her lead Coulson picks his own burger up and without a care opens his mouth and takes a large, messy bite. Meeting Skye's gaze he lets his eyes smile for him as he chews. It tastes surprisingly good. She shakes her head and then digs in just like him.

They talk about inconsequential things while they eat. Subtilely feeling each other out and making sly little jokes as they avoid the topic they are both sitting here to discuss. Coulson’s eyes move around the diner watching as people come and go. He assesses each new arrival and studies the layout of the building. It is second nature now to always be aware of his environment. Skye laughs, a full bodied laugh when Hellen slides a dinner plate between them with two very thick slices of pie on it. 

“Thanks,” he tells Hellen his smile like a boy in a candy store. 

Taking one of the clean forks the waitress placed on the plate he turns it in Skye’s direction before picking up the other. He freezes fork poised but he can’t decide which to try first. Frowning, he withdraws his fork. Looking at his dinner companion he sees Skye is watching him with an odd look on her face and then she smiles broadly.

“What,” he asks, slightly put out. His face is bland and his mood is not visible on his features.

“Mr. Control really can’t decide which piece of pie he wants to eat.” He is trying to decide if he is offended by her Mr. Control comment when she continues, “I think that’s kinda good…comforting.” Her voice is softer and sounds just a bit vulnerable.

“It’s comforting I am indecisive?” He asks and he knows his voice sounds almost just as vulnerable as hers.

“Perfection freaks people the hell out.” She explains as she gestures at him. Leaning forward as if imparting a secret she tells him, “You swoop in with your tailored suit and perfectly knotted necktie, perfect hair and smooth secret agent attitude. Things like that make people like me want to hide.”

“Hardly,” he responds with a frown. Touching his hair a little self-consciously he quirks his lips and shoots back. “Nah, I’ve seen perfect hair and this isn’t it. Now, Captain Rogers hair can’t possibly be real its so perfect.”

“Captain America,” Skye laughs as she taps her fork against her lips. It only takes her a moment to make the leap from his self-deprecating frown to the fact that he seems to idolize the superhero. “Holy, no way!” She gushes as she leans forward and asks as if they are sharing confidences, “Are you a secret fan-boy?”

Coulson stares at her blank faced for a moment before dropping his eyes to the plate. He can feel his cheeks flush. Determined to thwart this topic Phil cuts a piece of the lemon pie, stuffing it in his mouth and humming appreciatively as the tang startles his tastebuds. Closing his eyes Phil savors the layers of flavor presented by the pie in his mouth. The meringue is lightly sweet and eggy on his tongue and then the punch of citrus followed by a buttery crust. He sighs. That was one of the best bites he has had since arriving home from his R&R.

“Wow,” he says as he moves in to get another bite of pie but Skye whisks the plate away. Startled by the action Coulson raises his eyes to Skye and riches an incredulous brow.

“No avoiding the question,” she says looking pleased that she has surprised him. “I told you about playing dress-up with the Iron Man groupies at Stark Tower. Come on tell me have you met him?” She presses as she adds with increasing levity, “Did he sign your t-shirt?”

Coulson frowns as her questions hit a little too close to his death. In his mind he sees the embarrassing scene on the Quinjet and later on the bridge of the Helicarrier asking Rogers to sign his Captain America trading cards. Two of the most exhilarating moments of his life and then he is remembering the momentary flash of pain as Loki impaled him, but then he had felt oddly numb. He had been able to feel his neck, his face and the back of his head against the cold metal grating on the wall behind him but every thing from his shoulders down was gone.

Straightening in the seat he carefully places his fork on the table. Bland expression in place as he slowly buttons his shirt and then methodically tightens and straightens his tie. Sitting up straighter and making sure his face is as unreadable as he can manage before he answers. “We met before the Battle of New York.” Feeling more himself now that he is buttoned down Phil decides to go for nonchalant humor as he adds, “He agreed to sign my trading cards but then that was O.B.E. When the portal opened up and the Chitauri invaded.”

He must have failed at nonchalance because he watches as the smile slips from her face and her teasing manner fades. Skye is busy trying to decipher his quick changing of mood. She slides the plate back on the table closer to him, but he isn’t interested in pie anymore. Turning to the counter he catches Hellen’s gaze and lifts his hand asking silently for the check.

“I’m done,” Coulson tells Skye when he turns back to her. Hellen brings the check and a styrofoam container for the pie. Skye puts the pie in the container while he pulls his wallet from his inside pocket. Taking out a fifty Coulson hands it to Hellen. “Keep the change.” Smiling at the shell-shocked waitress Coulson slides out of the booth absently he tucks his shirt in, straightening his tie and buttoning the suit coat.

“Hey,” Skye say as she slides out to stand in front of him. “I’m sorry.”

Coulson frowns as he leads her to the door, opening it and waiting for her to precede him out onto the sidewalk. “What are you sorry for?”

“I shouldn’t have teased you or touched your pie away.”

“It was our pie,” he says as he starts down the street toward the alley her van is parked in. She remains silent for a few steps but then she asks, “O.B.E. what is that exactly?”

“Overcome by events,” Coulson answers.

“What kind of events,” she asks, pressing.

Turning to smile at her Coulson brings up the reason he is here with her. “Did you like working with my team?”

The non sequitur startles her but Skye’s smile is genuine when she replies. “It wasn’t boring. Why?”

“I need someone with a computer science background on my team.” He tells her as they reach the alley and he takes a moment to check the area. He stops with a hand to her elbow. Not allowing her to enter the dark alley until he is sure there are no credible threats. 

“I’m a hacker,” she informs him as if it is news.

“I know,” he smiles.

“And a high school drop out,” she adds, probably to shock him.

“I assumed,” he nods. Seeing a flash of hurt on her features he quickly adds, “Not because I think you are uneducated. It is just that there is absolutely nothing about you anywhere in the system. That usually means home school.” Looking pointedly gesturing to her van as they approached he added, “But given your living situation I doubt you had that sort of home life.”

Seeing her tense Coulson realizes that in trying to assuage her earlier hurt he compounded the problem. Following her around to the side door of the van he waits for her to unlock it and slide the door open. The light from inside illuminates her face and she turns to look at him for long moments. He hopes she is entertaining his proposition. 

“I don’t know,” she hedges, crossing her arms.”I’m not sure I will fit in.”

“I think you will,” he assures her with a smile. “I would not ask if I did not think you would be the best person for the job.”

“And you only want the best,” she murmured after a few moments spent contemplating his words.

“Of course,” he smiles.

“I’ll have to think about it,” she finally says as she settles inside the back of her van.

“Fair enough,” he nods. “I’m going to be visiting Mike’s sister in the morning. Meet me at the plane by nine thirty if you would like to accompany me and you can give me your answer.” Reaching out he grasped the handle of the door and began sliding it closed. “Lock up,” he orders just before the door closes between them. 

Coulson waits until he hears the lock being engaged, but he cannot seem to move away from the van. Instead he finds himself peering down the alleyway taking not of the subtle shifts in the darkness. Vagrants are settling in and the hair on the back of Coulson’s neck is raise. Frowning, he turns to take note of the distance between her van and the street. This is not a safe place for a girl to be living. 

“I can see you scowling,” her voice startles him and he turned to look at the door thinking he should convince her to join his team and get her the hell back to the Bus. “Seriously, you need to chill. I have lived here longer than you’ve owned that suit.” 

Her comment startles him but he has to admit that this is one of the new suits he purchased after he got back from Tahiti. He isn’t sure how it happened because rather than losing weight during his recovery he had actually gained more Defined muscle mass. None of his old suits fit him anymore. The doctors and his physical therapist had all done excellent work; brilliant really because he should have been a dead quadriplegic.

Skye jerking the van door open to glare at him startled him out of his funk and he could just smile sheepishly. “Lock up and I’ll leave I promise.”

“Good night,” she told him rolling her eyes and then added, “Thank you for dinner.”

“Good night, Skye.”


	3. The Consultant

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Saving Agent Coulson was risky, a desperate act done without his consent. He lost his will to live and then they took away his memories of what he had become. But can you make a man truly forget that he has lain tortured and begging to die? Can you take something that has been re-written into his very DNA? Alternate Universe romance told from Coulson's POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own the characters for Marvel Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D or Avengers and anything recognized from canon is not mine. I am simply speculating on a plot line that has yet to be fleshed out. I own nothing here.

The Consultant

Coulson cannot help but watch Skye as he turns the wheel and Lola makes a sharp right speeding over a field. Skye has gotten over the shock of finding herself in a flying car and she is laughing merrily. The look of pure joy on her face is one Coulson remembers feeling on his own features the first time he took Lola out like this. He ascends to seventy-five feet so that they are skimming above the trees. Skye lets out a whoop and raises her arms over her head like Lola is a roller coaster and Coulson feels his own heart throb with carefree happiness. 

Flipping a switch he contacts the local SHIELD office and asks them to have a retrieval team meet him at the air field. Skye is leaning over the passenger door watching the ground fly by as he makes arrangements to store her van.

“I gotta admit,” she says as she shifts back into her seat and looks at him in awe. “Right now…I don’t miss my van.”

“Lola’s glad to hear it,” Phil tells her. His voice is heavy with pride and his smile is permanently affixed to his face at this point. 

Good as his word they are landing on the road entering the airfield in ten minutes and they are parking Lola in less than five more. The retrieval team is sitting in jump seats in the the cargo bay when they get out. Coulson turns to Skye and smiles as she slides out of the corvette and then lovingly caresses Lola’s door as she closes it.

“Wheels up in ten,” he informs her, “Get what you can’t live without but remember that your bunk is only a six-by-five room.”

“Are you telling me to travel light,” she asks incredulously. “My home is a van you can’t travel any lighter than that.”

“Dr. Banner usually travels with just a messenger bag.”

“Hulk, the guy that turns into a giant rage monster travels light. Is there irony in there somewhere?” Coulson’s smile widens and it makes Skye’s eyes widen. When she doesn’t move toward her van to start packing Phil pointedly looks at his watch and she nods, “Okay, point taken. I will only bring what I absolutely have to have.”

“Good, Fitz-Simmons will show you to your quarters.” He turned to the retrieval team and checks over the paperwork. He signs the tablet and then explained that as soon as Skye was finished they should remove the van to an off-site storage facility. The retrieval team’s arrival had drawn the attention of the rest of his team and he found them in the lab waiting for his arrival. 

“Fitz-Simmons,” he turned to them as soon as he stepped into the lab. “Skye will be joining us. I would like you both to make her feel welcome and show her to her bunk after she finishes packing her things.”

“Sir,” Ward barked at the same time May growled, “Coulson.”

Neither one of them seemed happy with his decision and he was pretty sure his permanently affixed smile was not helping matters. Not willing to let them voice their reservations in front of Fitz or Simmons he gestured for Ward and May to follow him upstairs. Once there he immediately went to the command center and pulled up the map of Peru so that he could finalize their plan for assessing the O-8-4.

Coulson sets to work plotting routes and choosing a place to park the Bus. It takes a little longer than it should because Ward and May are tag teaming him, but so far they have not come up with an objection that he had not already thought about himself. 

May makes a noise of disbelief and she is busy drilling holes in his head with her eyes. Her eyes are practically screaming her objections but he is already prepared for that. They will find that he has already thought of and then personally dismissed every possible objection to Skye joining the mission, joining our team.

“She hacked our RSA implementation,” Ward says as if Coulson is not already aware.

“Twice,” he reminds Ward, “From a laptop. Imagine what she could do with our resources.”

“I am,” Ward says flatly. Coulson is pleased at the extremely dry delivery of his next words; except he is pretty sure Ward is not actually joking. “That is exactly what I am imagining during this frown.” It makes Phil smile anyway.

Tiring of the back-and-forth Coulson puts an end to their objections. “I’m calling this, but your frown will be on record.” He tells Ward as he finishes uploading the landing zone co-ordinates and hands the tablet off to May. She takes it and leaves immediately for the cockpit and Coulson has to admit that Ward’s frown is especially vehement when he leaves the command center. Ward and his frown turn to leave after May announces that they will be taking off in two minutes.

Coulson makes a few swipes on the computer table and the map of Peru is replaced by interior camera feeds. He sees Fitz-Simmons downstairs in the lab, but Skye is not with them. Another swipe and he finds her and Ward standing in the door to what Phil guesses is her bunk. She is smiling at first as she starts to speak but Ward cuts her off and thrusts something into her hands walking away. Coulson is heading for her position before he consciously makes the decision.

“You can say that again,” she mutters and Coulson can see that Ward gave her the safety pamphlet.

“Say what again,” Coulson asks as he reaches her. 

Skye looks up smiling as she says, “Sweet ride.”

Coulson finds himself telling her about getting stabbed through the heart before the Battle of New York and getting a few weeks R&R and the plane. She is frowning at the mention of his impalement so he decides to show her a little swagger. She is grinning at his studs up comment. He is glad he took her mind off the thought of exactly what he meant when he said being stabbed through the heart is similar to being shot.

“Yeah,” Skye says sounding impressed, “Agent Ward said they sent you to Tahiti.”

“It's a magical place,” he says automatically. Skye looks at him strangely for a moment so Coulson adds, “Better buckle-up.”

Skye opens her water and starts to sit it on the table and it is second nature to him to give her a coaster. As his consultant hacker places the water bottle deliberately on the coaster Coulson thinks about his mother. The coaster fetish was hers. He thinks that after they have dealt with the O-8-4 he will call up security footage from his mother’s assisted living facility. He is still angry that Fury left his mother in the dark about his survival after it was all said and done. Pulling his thoughts away from that cliff Coulson settles in beside Skye and explains what an O-8-4 is.

“The last one was pretty interesting,” he tosses out to her like a juicy worm on a hook and Skye snaps up the bait.

“What was that,” she asks, curious.

“A hammer,” he tells her with a glint in his eye.

“Thor,” she demands with another of her bright smiles. “Are there any of the Heroes of New York that you don’t know?”

“There are various first responders and military that were on the ground during the battle that I do not know personally,” Coulson says, reminding her that there were heroes among the general population, too. “But the Avengers Initiative was my last assignment, so, I know them all.”

“Impressive,” Skye admits and he can only shoot her a pleased smile. She takes a sip of her water and then frowns. “You said an Asgardian—you know?” She made a vague gesture at his chest and continued. “Did Thor do that to you? Was it some sort of training exercise gone wrong?”

“No,” he denies, “Thor’s brother Loki.” Coulson tells her about Loki and his bid to take over the world. She looks completely shocked. And Phil thinks she might be getting ready to pass out she does not seem to be breathing. Skye’s mouth is working and her eyes are roving over his body.

“Breathe,” he commands.

Skye’s shocked eyes widen and she inhales. He really did not mean to scare her but Phil figures at least this way she knows that this is not a game. SHIELD is a dangerous business to be in. It takes her a few moments and she drinks the entire bottle of water in one go before she speaks.

“Loki,” she starts sounding incredulous. “The God of mischief stabbed you in the back, left you for dead and helped an alien race bent on Earth’s destruction by opening a portal.”

“Essentially,” Coulson agreed. “They were more set on dominion of the planet.”

“No wonder they sent you to Tahiti,” She muttered.

“It’s a magical place,” Phil said without even thinking about responding. It is starting to bother him that those four words seem to jump from his lips as soon as anyone utters the word Tahiti.

“It must be,” Skye murmurs and she is watching him with an odd expression. 

Coulson can tell his forehead is furrowed. Thoughts of his mother believing him dead, Loki, the god of impalement, and his automatic response to Tahiti are making him feel uncomfortable. 

“So,” Skye asks, “Thor—are his arms really as big as they look on television or does the camera add fifty pounds?” And he can hear a bit of teasing in her tone. Coulson places a tick in the box beside the word perceptive under Skye’s name. She is changing the subject and Phil is happy to latch onto the change.

“Do you have your laptop,” Coulson asks as he unbuckles his seat belt and shifts on the bench seat to face Skye more directly.

“I never leave home without it,” she assures him.

“Bring it here,” he commands her. “I will get you set up on the common network.”

“You are going to give me access to your network,” Skye asks incredulously. 

“I asked you to join my team,” he reminds her. “Your computer skills would be pretty useless if I didn’t allow you anywhere near the network.” Skye seemed to think about that for a moment. “That being said…Your access level will be below level one until you become an agent. You’ll need to have someone else on this plane grant you access to the higher-level servers.”

“Of course, I will.” Skye says but she doesn't really seem upset by this. 

Coulson watches her as she goes to her bunk and retrieves her laptop. Opening it she types in her password and then hands it to Coulson while she sits down again. Taking the laptop he quickly accesses the network and pulls up the archive footage from Thor’s infiltration of SHIELD’s O-8-4 containment facility. Turning the computer back to its owner Coulson pressed enter and watched Skye’s face as she watched the Asgardian fight his way to Mjölnir.

He watches her watching the compiled video and smiles. Her eyes are wide and she is wearing an expression on her face that borders on disbelief. After a moment Skye frowns reaches up and watches a section of the video again, leaning in to get a closer look.

“Is that you,” she asks, rewatching the selected section again. 

Leaning around the laptop Coulson focuses in on the figure walking quickly across the compound. All the others around the man are frantically racing about trying to gain control of the situation. But, Coulson watches himself striding across the muddy terrain, rain pouring over him and his face in a determined expression. Seeing himself like that sparks something inside him and he does not recognize that man.

“Yeah,” he nods absently, “That’s me.”

“You look super intense,” she murmurs. “So, you were like in charge of that whole,” she gestures at the computer screen indicating the containment area.

“Pretty much,” he agrees. 

He watches her take that piece of news in and is oddly please that she seems to be rethinking her original observations of him. Smiling he stands up and gestures to the computer. “There are more videos in the archive of the events leading up to that epic cage match. Feel free to watch the others.”

“Maybe I will,” Skye nods. She reaches out and presses a few keys.

Coulson steps around the table and is surprised to discover that she is rewatching his trek across the compound again. Feeling uncomfortable Phil decides to nudge her away from watching him and tells her conspiratorially, “For a god, Thor was completely unaware of Midgard customs and hapless when he first arrived. There is an excellent video SHIELD found on YouTube of him walking into a pet store demanding a horse. The pet shop owner was using it to make a killing selling dog toys shaped like little hammers.”

“You’re joking, right?” Skye asked, clearly assuming he thought she was gullible. 

“No, SHIELD scrubbed it from the Internet, of course. And then they gave the shop owner a stern talking to.” Coulson shook his head as he walked away. “Their’s an entire folder filled with confiscated YouTube Avenger videos.” His words startled another laugh out of his companion and he could not help but smile broadly at her over his shoulder.

Leaving Skye to watch video footage of the Avengers he went to the kitchen. He was not particularly hungry but he remembered the diner yesterday and thought Skye might be hungry. Coulson made enough turkey sandwiches for the team. Pulling a loaf of bread from the cabinet and finding the crock of softened butter Coulson began assembling the sandwich fixings. Using a knife to cover each slice of bread with a thin slather of butter and then placing the fillings: thick slices of roast turkey, Swiss cheese, lettuce and tomato. He set out plates, chips and fruit before calling the team to the kitchen for lunch. 

Fitz and Simmons are the first ones into the kitchen their eyes wide at the sight of the hardy sandwiches. “Crisps,” Simmons beams up at him as she took a massive handful of chips and piled them beside her sandwich.

“Thank you, sir.” Fitz nodded, respectfully as he filled his own plate. 

“Yeah, Thanks!” Simmons calls over her shoulder as she heads back down to the lab followed by her lab partner.

May steps into the kitchen shooting an arched eyebrow in Skye’s direction. Coulson follows her gaze and sees that Skye is still on her laptop. May does not speak as she gathers her own food and returns to the cockpit; her opinion of the girl’s presence loud and clear. Ward is the last one to make a plate. The younger agent lifts his plate in a silent gesture of thanks and leaves going back to whatever he was doing before Coulson called them to eat. 

Skye is still at the same table watching her laptop. She never even attempted to come and get lunch. Coulson Frowns and then makes them both plates. He carries them to the table where he is surprised to see her watching grainy security footage that makes his entire body break out in a cold sweat. It takes all of his SHIELD training to keep his reactions so minute. Although, he thinks that the plates might have wobbled just a bit before he forced his body under his strict control. 

On the screen he sees himself confronting Loki, Thor is in the glass cage looking on helpless and in another moment he will be dying. Watching it now, Phillip Coulson finds himself curiously divorced from the scene, but Skye makes a shocked exclamation and he can tell that she is gasping for breath. 

“Skye,” he calls and his voice sounds strange to him.

She turns at the sound of her name. It surprises him when he sees unshed tears in her eyes. He wants to apologize for what she saw but that piece of video should be highly classified and it should not be anywhere near the videos he gave her access to. Numbly, he walks the last few steps and drops the plates on the table beside the laptop. He is getting ready to speak but he does not know what to say. He feels exposed and a little betrayed.

“Why would you,” he asks, his brow furrowed and his voice still not his usual smooth tone.

“I—I didn’t know,” she tells him sliding from the seat to stand beside him. “The title—it didn’t say that it was—“

“What,” he demands, suddenly his numbness has started to fade. “What could have possibly provoked you to—,” Coulson’s rant is interrupted by that of the self proclaimed Iron Man.

“Agent,” the usually cocksure voice of Tony Stark waivers just a bit and it jars Coulson. “Agent Coulson…”

Coulson’s eyes fly to the screen where he sees a room he recognizes as Tony’s living room. A somber faced billionaire, philanthropist and a tearful Pepper Potts are sitting in front of a group of Phil’s very select friends. 

“No, Phil…I am going to call you Phil because you ar—were a friend. I could wax poetical about you, the massive stick up your ass and your suits, but I won’t. Because all I really want to say is—You are the dumbest bastard to ever—“

“Stark,” Steve Rogers voice is somber and indignant as he interrupts Stark’s mini tirade. 

“No,” Stark snaps back and he is standing and facing off with Rogers. “I am only saying what the rest of you won’t. If he had let us handle—but he didn’t and he is dead. Our friend is dead.” 

The obvious pain and conviction in Stark’s voice as he turns back to the camera floors Coulson. He never would have believed that Tony Stark would grieve him but the proof is there on Skye’s computer screen. Pepper hugs herself to Tony’s arm and presses her forehead to the side of his face as he continues. Turning his head Stark presses a kiss to her temple. “Fuck it, Phil. You would never have just sit on the sidelines that isn’t who you are. It isn’t the man we all knew and—You’ll be missed.” Stark is lifting a bottle of twenty-one years old Glenlivet to the camera and pouring a measure into both his glass and Pepper’s and then passed the bottle to Rogers.

Coulson is paralyzed and his newly healed chest is aching as he watches the screen and his boyhood hero. He is only partially aware of Skye helping him to sit in her place in front of the laptop. 

“I am proud to have fought beside you, Phillip Coulson. You were courageous,” Rogers tells the camera, “That is all any man can ask for when he dies, to be brave and make a stand. To make a difference.” The man that had inspired Phillip Coulson to be the man he had become saying things like this took Coulson’s breath. He had only been nine when his father died. The stories his father shared with Phill from comic books and old awe filled bedtime stories of Captain America’s valor molded the boy into a man. Rogers pours a measure of scotch into his glass and passes the bottle to Dr. Banner.

“I didn’t know you well,” Banner says with a self-deprecating smile at the computer. “But what I did know was that you had my best interests at heart and that never happens. Be at peace.” 

Banner poured his drink and passed the bottle to Natasha. The tears in her eyes are almost too much for Coulson to take. She opens her mouth several times to speak but after a moment she just shakes her head and pours scotch in her glass, passing the bottle to Thor.

“Son of Coul,” Thor's voice booms, “You have made your fore fathers proud. I am ashamed of my brother’s cowardice. Midgard has lost a true warrior. Asgard will sing songs of your courage.” Thor pours a draught of scotch in his glass and passes the half-empty bottle to Clint Barton.

Clint hugs his wife, Laura, close to his side as he looks pensively at the bottle of scotch. “If I had been stronger,” his voice is rough with emotion as he speaks.

“No,” Natasha interjects, “It was Loki.”

Reaching out Clint hands the bottle back to Nat and then pulls her into his other side. Nodding his understanding of her words he tries again,“You helped all the people I care about in this world. There is no way to say to—to tell you what that meant to me. Peace my friend.” Clint lowered his arm and Romanoff handed him the scotch. Pouring some for himself and Laura he passed the bottle to Nick Fury.

“I should kick your ass,” Fury says with an intensity that Coulson is used to seeing in the man. “The first time in your entire career you disobey a direct order and it is that one. It is un-exceptable, Agent!” Fury pours scotch in his glass and in Maria Hill’s before capping the bottle and placing it on the table. Hill stared stonily at the ground not saying anything as the camera pans toward her. After a moment of silence they as one lift their glasses and drank.

“A spy's goodbye,” he murmurs, his eyes locked on the freeze frame at the end of the video. The title of the file once again displayed. 

Slowly he becomes aware of a cool hand on the back of his neck. Skye’s oddly calming presence at his side pulling him out of his thoughts. It was surreal; like actually attending your own funeral. He knew Fury neglected to tell the Avengers that Coulson had lived through his ordeal, but he did not know that he had attended his send-off drinking Scotch and commiserating with the team over their mutual loss. It seemed like too much. No wonder Hill had not been able to look at anyone in the room, let alone Fury. 

The odd streak of anger and powerlessness jolted through Coulson and he found himself having to consciously reign in his temper. Anger was something new he was having to deal with since leaving Tahiti. Well, not new so much as more volatile. Before Loki he was controlled, every reaction, movement and word well planned out and calculated. He rarely expressed anger unless he was venting after an afternoon in meetings with Stark.

Right this instant he was angry. He was hurt, tired and pissed. Glancing at his watch he saw that they still had a few hours until they reached Peruvian soil. Standing and dislodging Skye’s soothing touch Coulson buttoned his suit coat and stepped away from the table. Glancing around he noticed Skye’s wide worried eyes. Forcing the anger down he smiled a little to smooth things over with the girl. 

“I’ll be upstairs in my office. You should eat and then get settled in,” he told Skye, “We’ll be touching down in a couple hours. You should change your clothes before we land. It’s a nice dress but it isn’t really jungle wear, even with the boots.”

***

Phillip Coulson is dead tired. Their flight back from Peru was far less relaxing than he would have liked. The whole mission was also less than stellar, trading lead with rebels in the middle of the Peruvian jungle, rescuing Camilla and a third of her men so that they could threaten Coulson’s people and try to steal the O-8-4. And—his team blew a hole in the side of his plane. Director Fury had been silent for nearly five minutes when Coulson called to make that report. 

“Tomorrow,” Fury had finally commanded and hung-up. It was a quiet, dangerous tone Coulson had heard before, but usually only directed at other people. 

After watching the sling-shot launch the O-8-4 into the sun the team had emptied the cooler of beer while exchanging humors stories. Coulson had been spellbound by the sight of the rocket ascending into the heavens. He was making a special effort to really appreciate things like the pre-sunset sky. It was a privilege to watch his people take a moment to just be after defeating a common enemy. Skye had been a little distant at first but she had slowly loosened up joining in the banter. Even Ward had started to gel with the teams dynamic. It was a relief, actually, that they were settling in and finding their place. 

Damn, he was tired but he could feel his body pumping with energy. It itched across his skin and tickled his bones like a low voltage current humming through him. He had not slept more than five hours in the last forty-eight. Two of which was just destroyed by another nebulous dream that he could not even remember. 

Now, here he was laying awake waiting for his body to return to normal and thinking about the choices he has made. The things he has chosen to lay by the wayside to do his sworn duty to SHIELD. His mother went to bed tonight thinking her only son was dead. What did that say about him and his priorities? Coulson felt his heart twinge again as he remembered the video Skye had unearthed of the Avengers giving him a heartfelt send off. He felt anger at Fury for insisting that the Avengers, Audrey and his mother were better off not knowing he was still alive. Fury said he defied his last order by dying and Coulson knew that was not going to be the only order he defied. He was not going to be a ‘Yes-Man’. He would take the assignments that he wanted to take an he would decide if it is best to let his friends and family remain in the dark about his being alive. SHIELD had his first life but his second would be lived by his own rules. 

Finally feeling the heaviness leave his limbs Coulson pushed up to a sitting position. He sighs and rolls his head on his neck trying to work out the kinks his meager two hours sleep has given him. Shifting out from under the sheets he stands staring at the shadows cast over his room by the skylight. The silvery glow of the moon reflects off of his collection and he finds himself thinking about Camilla. Eleven years ago she had been young and thirsty. She had been eager to please her superiors, enamored by Coulson’s commanding position and quite passionate in bed.

Thinking about those nights in Cusco brought to mind Skye’s playful words earlier in the hanger bay while he babied Lola. 

“No, I mean what happened with you and Reyes,” she emphasized her words to put a naughty spin on them as she added. “You guys totally did it back in the day, right?”

“That’s classified,” he said. 

Coulson knew his eyes and other facial expressions were telling her what she wanted to know, but he was never the kind of guy to brag about his conquests. Reyes was hardly the first. He had always enjoyed the act of making love to a woman. He was no James Bond type but when you lived your life as in control is he did you had to have something to use to release the pressure on occasion. There had been a few memorable occasions. 

Phil smiled thinking of Tahiti. The surf, sand and unlimited time to do nothing but read and drink fruity drinks. Tahiti, truly, is a magical place. Coulson wonders if Skye would have enjoyed Tahiti as much as he did. He thinks should would; after all, she already loves Lola. 

Remembering the way she leaned against Lola’s hood playing on her cell phone pops into his mind and Coulson frowns. Usually he would have snapped at anyone daring to touch Lola and mar her waxed perfection, but he had allowed sky to practically sit on her without even a half hearted protestation.

Camilla looked at Lola and his youthful team and accused him of having a mid-life crisis, but he had rightly corrected her. This is no mid-life crisis. No, this is an afterlife crisis. He died!

Granted, it was only eight, or forty, seconds of time but it had felt like so much more. That has to change you! You can’t not be changed when your heart stops beating and your lungs are empty of air. Being alive is wasted on you if you just continue on the way you did before. 

This team was not put together so that he could feel relevant. Hell, Fury is the one that put the idea in his head by giving him this plane and as much latitude as he could extend to Coulson. The team were hand picked by Coulson, but they were chosen because they are the best in their field; even Skye is the best at Computer Science. She is a natural. 

Moving to his desk Coulson pulls open his upper left desk drawer and sighs when he sees the mostly drunk bottle of twenty-one years old Glenlivet. Wrapping his fingers around the neck of the bottle he pulls it from the drawer and glances around for a glass. Damn, he had not brought one up here yet. He had not wanted to make the office appear cluttered. Now he is kicking himself. He glances down at the cotton undershirt and flannel sleep pants he is wearing and then the bottle debating the need for a glass. 

It is the long buried memory of his mother catching him standing in the open door to the fridge drinking milk from the carton that makes him shake his head and start down the stairs. She was a tiny, little thing his mother but she made a big impression. Thinking of her makes him smile and some of his tension eases out of his shoulders. 

It is the work of only a minute to find a glass under the bar. Taking one he walks passed the huge gaping hole in the fuselage. Stopping to study the heavy plastic that has been taped across the opening. Six days! It had taken a couple million dollars to make this plane into the state-of-the-art flying machine it had been, but it had taken exactly six days to ground her. The night-lighting is illuminating the hanger and Coulson just sighs when he spots Lola. 

“Not a scratch,” he murmurs as she gently opens her door and slides into the driver’s seat. Lifting the bottle up so that the light glints off the amber liquid inside he remembers the video of the Avengers giving him a Spy’s Goodbye.

“That looks familiar,” Skye says from behind him and Coulson almost drops the bottle in surprise. “Sorry!” She immediately steps forward and puts a protective hand out to steady the bottle. “I didn’t mean to scare you. I was sitting in there,” she gestured to the black SUV.

“No—no, need to apologize.” Coulson assures her as he turns to look at the SUV and the back passenger door standing open. He notices she is still wearing the clothes she had been wearing earlier and comments. “You haven’t been to bed yet?”

“Yeah,” she answers as she plucks at the red flannel shirt over her White tee shirt. “Living in a van I sort of got out of the habit of wearing pajamas. It is impractical.”

“Understandable,” he acknowledges.

“So,” she says as she slips up to lean her hip on Lola, “Is that what it looks like?”

“If it looks like the half-full bottle of twenty-one years old Glenlevit that Director Fury gave me when he handed The Bus over to me,” he murmured, “Then yes, that is exactly what it is.”

“Wow, that is—,” she said her eyes showing her conflicted thoughts on the gift. He could tell she wanted to say it is messed up but she refrains and he smiles.

“Yeah,” he nodded. “I only have one glass but if you would like to join me.” Coulson tips his head gesturing to the passenger seat.

She thought about it for several moments and then walked around to slide into Lola’s passenger seat. He hands her the glass once she is settled and then he opens the bottle, rolling it a little under his nose and sniffing. Scotch was never really his thing but this one appealed to him. It had a dark smoky aroma that almost touched on being sweet and fruity. He was sure that if he took the time he could learn to appreciate the varying fragrances and favors inherent in this bottle but he had better things to do in his afterlife.

“Is it a good one?” Skye asked watching him with an indulgent and still worried look on her pretty features.

“I don’t know,” he shrugged, smiling boyishly. “It smells okay I suppose.” Tipping the bottle he poured a good three fingers into the glass. He screwed the lid back on and stowed the bottle in the footwell at Skye’s feet. 

“What are we drinking to,” Skye asked, holding the glass between them awkwardly.

“I don’t know,” Coulson murmured, shaking his head. “Surviving?”

“Definitely a reason to celebrate,” Skye agreed. Lifting the glass toward him she took a sip before passing it to Coulson. He took a slightly larger swallow and then raised the glass to the light. The liquid is a beautiful coppery-amber color. Closing his eyes he thought of that damned send-off. No, friends or family besides a select group of SHIELD level sevens. Huffing a sigh he drained the glass and contemplates filling it again, but Skye’s presence stops him.

“They don’t know you’re still alive do they?” She asks after a long silence. 

Coulson sighs and shakes his head, “No, they don’t.”

“And your family,” she asks.

“My mother had a bad spell when SHIELD told her I died,” he told her. “I am afraid it might kill her if I just show up after all these weeks.”

“I don’t understand why SHIELD told everybody you died,” Skye mutters. He can hear the tears in her voice from thinking about his mother being lied to. “So, you died for eight seconds. It happens and those people aren’t erased from their families lives.”

“The Avenger Initiative was proposed months before the Battle of New York was even a blip on SHIELD’s radar.” Coulson explains, laying his head back on the headrest and turning to look Skye in the eyes. She settles into the same position ready to hear the story. “I did the assessments and informed Director Fury that if we went forward with the program it would have to be without Tony Stark.”

“No, Iron Man, I bet he loved that.”

“Exactly,” Coulson agreed with a smile. “Tony Stark could make Mother Theresa want to shoot him, but that isn’t what shelved the Avengers project. The World Council nixed the idea before we could get out of the gate.”

“Then the Chitauri invaded,” Skye prompted.

“Technically, Loki invaded us and then opened the backdoor for the Chitauri.” He sighed and looked away from Skye as he continued. “He buried Project PEGASUS under a hundred feet of rock And then set his sights on ruling our little world.”

“And we had nothing in place to stop him.” Skye filled in and he smiled.

“So,” Coulson says shaking his head, “On the back of a truck that narrowly missed being dropped into a giant hole when the underground base exploded and collapsed Director Fury gave me my next assignment…The Avengers.”

Skye must be able to read his face because she murmurs, “They were that bad?”

“It was like a road trip with Fitz-Simmons and Ward only multiplied by a billionaire.”

“Yeah,” Skye nods, “Stark has that whole runs-with-scissors-and-does-not-play-well-with-others vibe going on.”

“Yeah, it was like herding a bunch of feral cats.” 

“They certainly pulled it together before New York,” Skye said, “Everyone has seen the pictures of them standing back to back in the street getting ready to kick alien butt.”

“Rogers and Stark were butting heads at every turn. Barton’s mind had been high jacked by Loki’s scepter. The rest of them were verbally going at each other,” he explained with a shrug, “Then Loki stabbed me through the heart with a Chitauri scepter.”

“Like the shot heard around the world,” Skye murmured, “Heavy.” 

Coulson smiled at that studying her face. Her smile was tinged with sadness as she shifted around pulling her knees around on the seat so that they pressed against the middle console. 

“That still doesn’t explain why Director Fury is keeping you dead.”

“I know,” Coulson sighed, sadly. 

Finally giving in he picked-up the bottle of scotch. Skye reached out and unscrewed the top for him and the action made him smile. She would be a good part of his team. Pouring a little less than he had the first time. Holding the bottle out he watches Skye screw the lid on before he took a generous sip and passed the glass to her.

“We should get to bed,” he advised watching her take small sips. “Director Fury is going to be here in the afternoon and he is not going to be pleased.”

“The repair men are supposed to be here first thing,” she reminded him as she tipped her head back to get the very last drop from the glass. “Fitz-Simmons is excited about the fish tank, that was a good call.”

“Yeah, there’s that too,” Coulson acknowledged as his eyes skimmed over her up-turned face and lingered on the delicate column of her throat. Feeling a jolt of attraction Coulson started to think Camilla might have had a point about his mid-life crisis. He had to look away when she unselfconsciously flicked her tongue out to the rim of the glass licking up the last trace of scotch.

“That is really good stuff,” she sighed, “it made me think of chocolate and marshmallows.”

“I was thinking more bananas foster,” Coulson said, quietly. 

Glancing back at the girl sitting beside him sharing his scotch he felt more relaxed than he had since Tahiti. Finding him self attracted to the girl was unexpected but Coulson had been cut off from all his closest ties. Every person he called friend except May and Fury had been taken from him before the Battle of New York.

“I’ve been thinking about Tahiti,” Skye murmured.

Coulson could tell by her tentative voice that she was still thinking about Fury’s decision to separate him from everyone he cared for. Smiling, he said the first thing that popped into his head. “It's a magical place.” 

Skye flinched a little when he said that but then she just nodded. The smile on her pretty lips never made it to her eyes and suddenly Coulson felt tired again. Ignoring her reaction to his words Coulson opened his door, getting out and closing it gently. On impulse he walked around the front of Lola to open Skye’s door as well.

“Let me walk you to your door,” he murmured, smoothly. He gave her his best, most boyish smile and was happy to see that hers reached her eyes now.

Coulson closed the passenger door softly after she stepped out and then guided her to the stairs with a gentle hand to her back. The traversed the length of the plane between Lola and her bunk in companionable silence. At her door he reached out squeezed her shoulder in thanks and then made his way to his office. Placing the scotch back in the drawer he sat tiredly on his bed before falling back down to the pillows and closing his eyes. Maybe he could sleep.


End file.
